


Enough To Go By

by genarti



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Companion POV, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genarti/pseuds/genarti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bond of a Monarch's Own is no less deep than any other Companion's, but there are some unique aspects to Rolan's situation all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough To Go By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moontyger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas, and thanks to moontyger for a really fun and thought-provoking prompt!
> 
> I discovered after I had written this that Rolan was also the name of the Monarch's Own Companion in _Brightly Burning_ , which I had totally forgotten. For the purposes of this fic, I'm assuming that's a different person, despite having the same name. Names do get repeated, after all.

_:Rolan!:_

Rolan turned his steps towards the corner of the Companions' Field where Caryo was cropping at the new spring grass. He sent a greeting in return, with the overlay of warmth that some Companions still termed a 'smile,' and Caryo flicked an ear in reply. 

Caryo had never been overawed by him. That was exactly as it should be for the Companions of Queen and Queen's Own, of course, but it was still pleasant. Much like their Heralds, the Companions were all theoretically equals, but in practice some individuals were wide-eyed younglings or easily intimidated -- or both. The Grove-born Monarch's Own was chief of the Companions, insofar as they had one, with what Rolan knew was an otherworldly aura to match, and even other Companions sometimes shied away from casual conversation.

 _:Good grass coming up over here,:_ she said. That was one advantage of Mindspeaking, for certain: you could talk with your mouth full without the slightest rudeness! _:If we're lucky, the rest of the spring will be just this mild.:_

There were more serious matters to discuss, as there always were. Elspeth, Karse, Selenay, a dozen smaller tangles of Circle and Court. But they had discussed them all a dozen times already, and there was nothing new to say. And there was the matter of the dreams Rolan had begun to have -- but those he couldn't discuss at all, with Caryo or anyone else in this Field. Sometimes it was restful to simply chat about nothing important.

 _:Here's hoping,:_ he answered, bending to sample it himself. _:Korval says Ilina thinks it will be, anyway.:_

_:Did he? Good.:_

Herald Ilina's particular ForeSeeing Gift was mostly reliable for weather-sensing. If she said the spring would be mild, it was almost certain to be true.

For a few minutes they grazed in silence, both mental and actual. Then Caryo swiveled an ear, and asked, _:How is Talamir?:_

Out of habit, Rolan reached for their bond, though he knew the answer. Talamir was, as he had been, in a meeting with the Lord Provost and Dean Elcar, and tightly shielded as usual. It was sensible, of course, for a Herald of his Mindspeaking abilities, and Rolan could certainly have called him through their bond had he need of it. 

All the same, Rolan knew in his heart that it was also meant as a kindness to both of them. With Talamir's shields walling him in, Rolan couldn't feel the grief that still lay leaden at the core of his Herald.

Unnecessary, of course. Rolan had known, from his moment of birth in the Companions' Grove, that he was born for Talamir: Queen's Own, middle-aged then and old now, and forever in mourning for his first Companion Taver. He would not be Rolan's only Herald, but he was his first. Rolan had always known that he would be just barely enough for Talamir. 

That was the most any Companion could have been, and more than any other. How could he mind? Talamir was his Chosen, heart-wound and all.

 _:Fine,:_ he answered. _:Bored stiff.:_

Caryo snorted. _:So's Selenay, as well you know! Menmellith may be an ally, but that doesn't seem to stop them from sending the most deadly dull sorts imaginable as ambassadors. At least this latest fellow doesn't talk_ quite _as much in a monotone as his predecessor.:_

Another mindvoice, 'deeper' and full of ironic humor, chimed in, _:I've always suspected that they send us the courtiers they want to get rid of for a season, since diplomatic relations are secure.:_ Across the field, Kantor flicked his tail, and shoved his nose deeper into a patch of yellow flowers.

 _:It does seem that way,:_ Rolan agreed, amused, over Caryo's physical and mental snort.

Talamir had noticed Rolan's gentle attention after all. His shields cracked open, and he sent a faint wave of inquiry down their bond.

Rolan sent reassurance back. _:Nothing, Chosen. Merely curious how your meeting is going.:_

 _:Dreadfully,:_ Talamir answered. _:None of us can do a thing useful about the Brat, so we're talking in circles. Why, did you want to listen in?:_

Rolan snorted mentally, mostly for Talamir's benefit. _:If it's as boring as you say? No thanks. There's some lovely grass out here which is far more interesting.:_

 _:Greedy horse,:_ said Talamir, fondly tolerant, and his attention turned away again.

But his shields stayed a little ajar, and Rolan listened in anyway. Talamir was right about the meeting's pointlessness, but all the same it seemed only fair that they both be bored by it.

* * *

Rolan picked his way across the Companion's Field. The night was overcast, only a few stars showing between gaps in the clouds, and a _real_ horse would probably have been completely blind. But a Companion, as they often had to remind those from outKingdom, was decidedly _not_ a horse. The light, sparse and faint though it was, was plenty to navigate by.

Most of the other Companions were asleep. Those that weren't paid little attention to what was, after all, a common sight.

Ahead loomed the dark trees of the Companions' Grove. The small chapel that held the Death Bell was a paler shadow among them. Only the belltower stood out above the treetops.

 _I suppose some people would find this uncanny. They find us uncanny in broad daylight, after all. Oh, they love us as well, at least in Valdemar, but one can find a beloved idea unsettling in the flesh. And this_ is _Baron Valdemar's Grove, after all._ What would they say if they saw the people he was about to meet?

In the center of the Grove was a clearing. Small flowers bloomed in the grass, invisible now in the shadows. It was kept carefully clear of weeds and tree seedlings, and otherwise left to grow as it would. Rolan paced to the center of the clearing, the chiming of his silver hooves muffled by grass, and waited.

 _:Little brother,:_ said an affectionate mindvoice behind him, and Rolan swiveled his ears in an equine smile.

Some thought that Companions looked ghostly, shimmering white as they were -- and in a way, of course, that wasn't wrong. But the forms around him would have shown them the error of their conclusions. _These_ were true spirits, and they shone with a faint, unearthly glow like moonlight.

In life, they had been Monarch's Own Companions. Now, they came down from the Havens to give the benefit of their wisdom and their centuries of experience to the current Monarch's Own.

Which was good, because sometimes he sorely needed that.

 _:Elder siblings,:_ he greeted the handful of forms around him. There weren't many of them, though there were more than had come tonight. Valdemar had existed for centuries, but Monarch's Own Companions lived a very long time. His predecessor Taver had lived for hundreds of years and advised dozens of Chosen before a Tedrel axe cut him down. Rolan, only a decade or so old, privately felt he was struggling to grow into a set of overlarge traces.

Well, no matter. Self-pity was getting him nowhere. _:I'm worried,:_ he confessed to them.

That was the heart of it. He was thinking himself in circles because he was fretting, and there was nothing to do about it.

The spirit-forms of his kin gathered around him. They were silent, listening and waiting.

Rolan could not have said this to any other Companion. All of them bonded themselves to their Chosen for life. To _one_ Chosen, that was the key. When a Herald died, the Companion did not outlive them for long. Even in the vanishingly rare case of Repudiation, that remained true. In their youth, fillies and colts dreamed of a Chosen, with more and more details coming clear the nearer the day of that meeting came -- but only the Monarch's Own dreamed of one Chosen with another still alive and bonded to his heart.

He opened his heart to the ghostly forms around them, and _showed_ them. His dreams, his love for Talamir, and his deep, heart-rending fear of that this might mean -- for, if he was to find another Chosen, that meant Talamir would be dead. And yet already he also loved this child he knew only through vague dreams, and he could not help but think of Selenay's frustration, Talamir's feelings of helplessness, all the gaps in the fit between Queen and Queen's Own where they tried to help each other and failed. _:What am I to do?:_ he asked them, at last.

Taver was the one who paced forward to rub his ghostly nose against Rolan's neck comfortingly. _:Protect him,:_ he sent. _:Fight for him. Keep him as long as you can, for his sake and the Realm's. And then at the end, when you must -- let him go, little brother.:_

* * *

In the Field, alone once more, Rolan lay down. He didn't need to, for like a horse, a Companion could sleep comfortably standing up, but right now he wanted to. He let his eyes drift closed, and with a calmer heart he opened his mind to the deep thoughts he had been turning away from.

He loved Talamir. Talamir was his Chosen, his heart's friend and his dear one and his partner. Nothing could ever change that. When Talamir died, Rolan would grieve him deeply. And, while Talamir was awake and might possibly 'overhear' any of Rolan's thoughts, these dreams would stay locked well away from both of them.

But right now, Talamir was sleeping, and Taver's spirit supported him through his dreams. Rolan needed -- and, he admitted to himself, wanted -- to look at his premonitions of the future.

Rolan opened his mind, and looked at the indistinct images of Foresight. A slight form -- a heart-shaped face, topped by brown curls -- a young mind, a young heart. Someone shy and open and warm and scared and caring. Someone who would win hearts all around her, and see the pain and fears inside those hearts. A young girl, new herself to the duties of a Herald's life, but stubbornly insistent upon facing them. What Selenay needed, and Elspeth needed, and Rolan himself needed.

His next Chosen.


End file.
